Echoes Of Silence
by suparizona
Summary: She said I didn't care about her, she asked me why I never did the right thing, she admitted every word was just a sound to fill in our silence, she claimed that every touch was the only way she felt me, she begged me not to hurt her, she warned me about myself—and I just laughed; exb
1. the host

_my first story. always had this idea, of an edward that didnt give a fuck about bella. a realist unlike any other. a story about real teenagers i go to school with everyday and see at parties._

_my bella looks like cheryl cole and edward is always originalward (the twilight edward)._

_i own nothing. _

song: xo/the host, the weeknd

* * *

I always miss the first throw.

My arm draws back, farther than the last time, and my fist slices through the air. Lands on the motherfucker. His face swings to the side, and the fire boils like inferno through my veins, adrenaline spiking my every punch.

There's no one watching. Only my aggression pierced onto his body.

"Stop, man!" Sam's laughing so hard, trying to skim the surface of the fight all while trying to stop the shit. His eyes are wide and his lips are chapped and there a streak of sweat lined down his nose and forehead. "Buddy, buddy buddy," he laughs, grabbing my arm. "That's enough. You don't fuckin' know what you're doing to him, Cullen."

And I laugh with him, because Jake's withering on the pavement, clutching his arm like a little bitch. His blood almost looks black, but when he starts laughing too, I know I have what I need.

Jake tries gritting curses through laughter and clenched teeth and winces.

Sam slams both hands on my back. The gesture sends my body skidding forward and down onto Jake. Fucking prick.

We're all laughing like we've seen God, and I can't get off Jake, and Sam's guffaws only make me buckle harder. And I swear if I don't stop my stomach will curl in on itself.

We get high. Sam teaches me how to fight. I get my ass beat. It's how we fucked around. But this victory screams loud and changes the rules.

Sam can barely breathe when he chokes out, "Buddy taught you well, huh? _Tell_ him, Black! Tell him his buddy taught him well!"

I roll off Jake, staring at his face. For seconds, minutes, hours. Blood trickles down his head like a living proof and his eyes are crinkled as he grins and grins and grins. "Mother_fucker_," he croaks, and kicks his leg into my stomach.

"You." Sam crouches down, smiles and all. Pushes my hair back, fisting it and shaking my head with pride. It's swelling and imploding in every inch of my boneless body. "No one messes with ya."

* * *

When we get back to Phil's, half of Forks is crowded in the house and lounging in the back and front yards. Girls in tight shirts and tight black leggings huddled in groups, guys spun as fuck and rummaging through every space for a drop of alcohol. The music pounds so hard, like it's drumming into us.

I feel like life's sprinting into me with every passing millisecond and my heart's going to pound right out of my chest and into my head.

Connor gives Jake three lines, and the minute his head comes up, his eyes roll back and he can't shut up about not feeling his face. The best shit he's ever tried. And we're all laughing, because his face is crusted with blood and I'm the one who broke the skin.

Jake ends up sitting on the dining table with me, stare crawling everywhere, in every direction, all at once. "I'm so hard," Jake moans. He's blatantly staring at something: Katie Howell's ass, which is the prettiest thing I've seen all night.

His eyes are wide and people approach the fucker every two seconds. "_Holy shit, man, what happened to your face?!_" He just looks at me and nods. Makes them scurry the fuck away.

All except her.

She was talking to Katie, sitting on Rose Hale's lap, sipping chase—a can of Mountain Dew. A blond girl with hair in gold waves and cat green eyes taps Katie's shoulder and whispers something in her ear, and suddenly Katie's eyes are glued to us.

And the girl gets off Rose's lap, approaches us with her mouth agape and brown eyes wide.

She's hot. A little extra weight on her, but her face is like a slap in the fucking face. The most voluptuous curves hugged by dark jeans, big tits tucked in a tank-top, thick lips flushed red and brown eyes appraising us.

"Jacob?"

He's up on his feet, erection forgotten, and he tackles her. "Bell," he says, tucking his face into her hair and taking a big breath in. Pussy. "Shit, you smell good. What the fuck do you use? Shit."

Her brows furrow and she steps back. He's high as a kite, grinning and gripping her arms and staring at her chest. "You grew up," he comments.

Her little face is so confused, and it's so comical, that I'm laughing for the thousandth time today.

"What happened…" she starts, staring at the red streaks and enlarged pupils. "What's with your face?"

"What?" Jake asks innocently, crossing his arms over his chest. "A good night, that's what. Come meet the asshole. And how's Charlie? Got my ass arrested last month—he tell you that? Tell your daddy we're good, would you? We're so good." He won't shut up.

He grabs her shoulder, maybe too roughly, but I draw my mouth into a hard line and stare at her with menacing eyes.

The bitch stares back.

"That's Cullen," Jake says, nodding at me with a glint in his black eyes. "Did his number on me for the first time, moved here a year ago, and and and and _and_, he's a _fucking _asshole." He laughs. "Aren't ya?"

There's a pause. Then, "Oh, right, shit. Yo, this is Bella Swan, chief's youngest." He winks at me, then squeezes her arm. "I'm gonna go get a drink. You want anything? I can get you anything. Whataya want?"

She swallows. "Nothing." It's quiet, then louder, "Nothing. I already got a drink."

He snorts. "We don't call that a drink, baby."

Her wide eyes follow his figure as he disappears into the people, and she can't look away.

"The fuck," I mutter, raising my eyebrows and getting up, and her head snaps up to meet my gaze.

She looks lightheaded.

"Why did you—did you do that to him?" Her voice breaks on the last word.

I just laugh at her. My eyes take her in, and god, she's fucking beautiful.

And I want to fuck her against my wall, fuck her high, fuck her drunk, fuck her tonight, fuck her senseless.

"Are you on drugs?" she asks. Like it's a dirty word.

_Molly_, I almost say, but I don't wanna corrupt her. I just stand in front of her and look down her shirt. Her bra, simple and black, holding the perfect tits.

She shoves me back, a futile attempt, and the minute there's a distance between us, I look back at up at her. She smells like autumn and looks like she could punch me in the face.

And I dare her to do it. See how much she could damage the guy who crippled Jacob Black.

"Tell your dad we're good," I say. Jake's words sink into my brain and slip through my lips. "We don't want anything happening to his daughter, right?"

It's an empty threat, almost whispered into her mind, but I can't hear a single breath escape her.

Her eyes brim with moisture, and I don't feel anything.

She shoves past me and barrels straight into Jake, who steadies her. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where you going?"

She mumbles something, and he says, "I haven't seen you in forever and you're leaving? I got you my dad's Patron, babe. That shit is worth a lot to him, you know that? I need you to drink it."

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Her voice cuts through glass. "You look like shit. You're acting like shit." She says it over and over, like a prayer.

His smiles dissipates, and his eyes are desolate as her looks down at her.

"I'm not saying anything," she says, "to Charlie."

Like we could give two shits about anything she could say to convince him otherwise of us.

Her confidence is false. Her resolve is wavering. She's a too-good bitch. She has no idea.

"Get the fuck away, then," he says, indifferent. "Like you did last time." His voice crescendos louder. "Remember last time? Like last fucking time. Don't fucking come back. Don't fucking come back."

I can't watch them anymore.

I grab the bottle of Patron, shoving past them and looking right at Katie.

Her eyes scream thirst and her body is begging to be fucked.

Tequila hits my lips and slithers down my throat with a burn I feel in the fist I threw and the stomach I keep empty.


	2. who's gonna save my soul?

_song: gnarls barkley, whos gonna save my soul_

_thank you for your reviews and those who follow this, you guys have been my motivation to get to this chapter. believe it or not, this is the farthest i've gone with a story without losing inspiration these past four years of writing. keep the support coming!_

_this chapter is the just a simmer compared to the real boil. a feel of what's ahead. i promise i won't let shit drag on for too long._

_i own nothing._

* * *

The last days of summer break slink by slyly, but you just know. The rain starts beating harder on the roof and Mom starts stocking the house with tea.

She says moving to Forks changed her for the better. Small towns eased her stress and she didn't have to worry about the hospital getting too hectic for Dad. New York was too busy, Jacksonville was too sunny in the summer, Chicago was too easy for me, Philly was too lonely for her.

She didn't want me touching shit. As if girls and narcotics aren't found in every rusted corner of this damn world.

Small towns have no futures, big towns have no safety—everything you touch dies within your hand or in your mind when you step into your own darkness.

There's nothing for you here if it isn't an obsession. A mindset. A routine and a lifestyle and an urge to disappear completely.

Girls aren't a problem. There's plenty here. Not too many are easy, but those who are—they're the ones we yearn for. Charlie Swan thinks his right hook can fuck a man six ways to Sunday but I've fucked his own daughter in his bed.

Vanessa Swan.

It's never fair with us, but she gets it.

I don't need more and she doesn't expect any less.

Except rare warm afternoons baked on her roof, where she admits she might love me. And that it terrifies her to the point of shame.

I've been lying on her bed the whole day, letting fall steal summer's thrill and trying to catch a breath with every kiss she bargains her heart with. She's in my hoodie and I'm in my boxers, and she wants to do it again but she can't risk anyone hearing. "You gotta be quiet, Bella and Vic—they're here, too."

So I empty myself in her twice, smoke a couple cigarettes, breathe in the scent of cinnamon drenched on her sheets and lingering on her neck and keep my moans lodged in my throat.

And I fucking hate the unwanted presences.

"So." My voice is low, breath fanning out on her tits."Bella."

Vanessa snaps, "What about her?"

They all have perfect tits.

"Everything," I say. "Never heard of her."

"That's cause you moved here after she left." She gets up and walks to the window. Lights another one up, gazing into the downpour emerging from the sky.

The eerie calmness the sound of the rain brings captures my worries and settles our fucking silence most days, but not today.

"Where was she?"

"With Gran, back in Phoenix."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why?"

Vanessa sighs. "Mom got sent for treatment there. Gran was offering to pay and all—plus Bella wanted to go." Pause. "After Mom got through with all the chemo and stuff, she came back, without Bell. Said Phoenix was doing her grades good or something. Had a _boyfriend_ she didn't wanna leave behind. Friends. And god, she needed some."

Bitter laughter escapes her, and I see a tear slide down her cheek. There's no remorse in me anymore to wipe it away, so I laugh as more spill. "Toughen up," I mutter, sitting up. I pull on my shirt and trackpants, grabbing her by the waist.

She squeals and I "shh" her and she giggles. And then we're kissing, hard and fast with our hearts racing and tobacco staining our lips, and I just want to fuck her hard and fast, but she wants someone who can do it with a smudge of care in them.

Then she quietly mumbles, "I love you."

We're suddenly both tense and the feeling that grips me sends my pulse flying out my body.

So I pull away and pull off my hoodie and ignore the cinnamon scent her skin draws on my clothes every goddamn time.

I know shouldn't come back here every fucking time, because I don't care about her love and she doesn't need my ignorance any longer.

"Edward."

Her voice is tight, and it's not _Cullen_.

"I'm not." She stares at me blankly as I say the words. "I'm not yours, alright?"

Then she's bolting up, breaths heavy and face inches from mine. "You're not mine, I know." She's panicking. "I know that, I kn—"

"We just…" I look away, down at my feet.

Her voice shakes. She's relentless. "What did I do?"

"You know."

"And _you _know I like you."

Minutes pass as we lapse into a silence none of us wants to break. But I do it anyway.

"You know I don't."

* * *

Before school starts, Sam wants to live. I tell him he'll die by the time the night's through, but he just rolls his eyes and lights his joint.

His idea of living is driving to the skatepark and smoking away three grams with Connor.

He's fucking stupid with his board, and Connor's killing every attempt.

"Give it up," I say, lighting a cigarette from his pack. "I'm taking one."

"Never said you could, asshole." His words are garbled, slow and eyes squinting and it's almost as if he's half-asleep.

He kicks down beside me, and it's so quiet from him that I'm positive he's passed out. Until he starts clearing head and inking mine.

"You know who Bella Swan is yet?"

Big tits, warm eyes, broad thighs, thick lips. Lonely.

"No."

"Mmm," he says, taking a deep breath. "You talk to her yet?"

I hesitate, but there's no way in hell I'm a liar.

"Yeah," I say. "Yeah, a little."

He laughs airily, and it's soft. Softer than prescience and louder than pride. Like he just knows.

"She really messed him up, huh?"

And relief washes over me, because I know I'm wrong.

"Who?"

"He never told you?"

As ignorant as I am, as paragon and I want my manhood to be, I know there are some things that should be fucking left unsaid.

"Jake," he continues. "Had a thing for her back when she was dating Tyler Crowley. Or no…shit, I think it was Eric Webber." He laughs like it's the funniest shit. "Nah, nope, it was Riley Biers."

Names of frat boys that we've gotten fucked up with too many times don't strike me as guys who dig Bella Swan. Or any Swan.

"None of my business, anyway," I mutter, flicking my cigarette. I don't look at him.

"She cheats on Riley. Says someone slipped her some oxy's or something…fucking Black breaks his nose when he tries scarping him. And then it's the same thing—"

I don't want to hear this shit anymore.

"Sam."

He stops, abrupt. The sharp edge to my voice doesn't go unnoticed, but he's wearing a lazy grin that portrays him not giving less of a fuck. "She does the same shit to Jake. With Emmett."

My head spins. Jake never spoke about her, not even once.

"She got into some beef with Rose, though. Black and Em, it's like they're property of bitch-ass Rose." He elbows my knee, trying to get me to look at him. But there's nothing my eyes won't give away if I do. "Now they're best friends. _Girls_, yo." He shakes his head.

And I put out my cigarette, watching the embers die like a spark that dims with every blow.

* * *

We drive to Mcdicks, blaring Gnarls Barkley, and Sam decides to smoke the rest of the weed out of my pipe. He's ducked in the backseat, sitting on a couple battered issues of Sports Illustrated magazines and rollies and food wrappers. He cracks the window to let the stench out. I want him to keep it in, because there's no way I'm gonna stand sober today.

There's no way I can stand sober any day. There's no denying that.

And the thing about small towns is you literally see people at the most inconvenient times, anytime, anywhere. Girls you've fucked, teachers you've hated, parents you met back when play dates still existed.

Every person in this town is your audience when you're out in the open.

And there's Tyler Crowley, fallaciously trying to rap along with Kendrick Lamar, sitting inside his jeep, door hanging wide open and Bella Swan shoveling a McFlurry into her mouth in the passenger seat.

Sam's greening out, moaning in the back of the car about a bat country and Connor's yelling Tyler's name before I can stop him.

"Con, you dick! When'd you get back from Vancouver?" Tyler hops out of the Jeep, onto the tailgate and right into Connors embrace. They give a one armed hug, bumping fists. Like good old friends of some kind.

I'm not listening. My eyes stray from them. I look at my feet, trying to block out their words. Until I hear her name.

"Yo, what're you doing here with her?"

"It's Bella…." The way he says it, as if that clears up any fucking confusion.

Connor laughs. "You…?" He raises his brows and thrusts his hips forward, and Tyler only snickers. Then it's all about bumping fists and congratulations.

My heart drums funny, and my eyes feel heavy, droning on everything but her.

And when I finally set my gaze on her, sitting in the car, flipping through every song, it's as if I see nothing but a vilipended face.

"Connor," I say, and both heads turn my way.

"Cullen." Tyler nods at me. "How long has it been, man?"

I smile. "Too long." Not long enough.

"How're things?"

Our small talk only makes me want to scram. The tightening in my throat, the feel of her gaze on my face, the soft pellets of rain pecking down onto me. I feel it all at once, like a rush of dope or a blow to the stomach.

"Good," I say," they're good. How's UDub?"

"Better than high school, all I gotta say." He laughs, wiping his hand over his face like he can't believe half the shit he's about to say. "The chicks, bro. And you ain't seen a house party or snorted real blow until you arrive. I'm saving you two a bunk, for real."

And then, "Tyler, I gotta get home." Bella's got one foot on the tailgate, head poking out, hair tied up.

"Yeah, I know," he tells her, nodding for her to get back into the car. Then with hungry eyes he declares his love. "Buy her ice cream and she's yours for the night."

"Noted," Connor says with a cunning half-smile. Tyler says his goodbyes and rushes back to his truck.

And I just laugh, because Bella's pussy barely deserves even a spoon of that shit.

* * *

Vanessa calls me later at night. I don't pick up, because a laden of her problems all oppress into my life as a person. And I just need to keep my dick wet.

* * *

She texts me twice.

I don't check it until I'm too baked to keep my eyes open.

* * *

_Fuck you_

* * *

_Im sorry_

* * *

People can't leave things be; they can't keep things alive.

We touch too many things and break too many promises and inquire too fucking much.

* * *

_A man is better off in the dark. A man cannot see in the dark. A man can only touch in the dark. A man can only be as dark_.


End file.
